Our Skyrim
by shadow3259
Summary: Markarth is under siege. Not by the Empire or the Stormcloacks. But by those who have no banner. Elves, Orcs, Khajiit, Argonians, and many more have decided to start a kingdom of their own; where no one looks at the color of your skin, fur, or scales. And they are lead by one man, who will have his vengeance. In this life or the next.


Chapter One: Independence

**If you have not seen Gladiator with Russell Crowe, please go watch it, look at some screenshots, or YouTube some clips from the movie. That way you'll have a good mental image of my main character.**

"Send more guards to the walls! Begin boarding up the throne room! And were in Oblivion are those bastard thalmor!?"

"I am sorry my thane; they seem to have escaped the city. Even they know we are doomed."

"QUITE!" screamed Igmund, Yarl of the Reach, as he back handed the offending guard. "Markarth has stood strong since the days of the Dwemer. And I well be damned if I see it lost to beast folk!"

The ranting's of the Yarl were cut off as the double doors which granted entrance to the throne room were blasted open with such force as to cause one of them to come off its hinges and crash to the floor; crushing several guards in it's path. The remaining guards, true to their training, formed a shield wall to block any charge of intruders to take the last free section of their city. Each man jack of them praying to the Nine for deliverance from what they face.

But no charge came. No soldiers poured in through the breach. Only smoke and fog from whatever blasted apart the doors; the eeriness of which only adding to the fears of the guardsmen.

But the quite was not to last, as it was broken by the sound of a missile shot at incredible speed and the body of a now dead nord hitting the ground; a steel arrow protruding through the back of his head. Another pause, this one only last a second, before more arrows followed their predecessor.

"SHIELDS UP" shouted the guard captain. His order quickly obeyed by his men.

A rain of deadly projectiles that seemed relentless assaulted the steel and iron shields wielded by the brave men and women of the Markarth Guard; many of which found holes in their defense. Soon more guards feel to the ground, grasping at arrows that had imbedded themselves in shoulders, chests, and eyes.

And as suddenly as the volley began, it stopped. Replaced by that eerie silence once again; only this time it was punctuated by the groans and cries of fallen warriors.

'_Should we help our comrades?'_

'_We can't break formation.'_

'_Oh great Akatosh we're all gonna die!'_

These and more thoughts of doom and despair were shared by all who found themselves in what was once a hall of grander, but now was a hall of death.

And then it came. The charge that more experienced fighters new was coming and prepared for. The terror of what they saw attacking them, however, was something that could not be prepared for.

Snarling orcs and roaring nords in heavy armor, wielding two handed axes and battle hammers. Hissing argonians and khajiit in heavy to medium armor wilding axes, swords and shields. Screaming wood elves, dark elves, imperials, bretons and even a few redguard in light armor wielding daggers, short swords, scimitars, and magical staffs. All of whom were led by a man in dark grey leather armor that resembled that which is worn by the Penitus Oculatus guard, only with two horses on the chest facing each other. On his head rested a metal helm with spikes on the back and top, a pointed cone end at the forehead, and solid metal strips covering the face The leader wielded an imperial sword and round steel shield that was all metal and no wood.

This hoard of charged through what was left of the shield wall with easy. Axe and hammer splitting Markarth skulls. Swords and daggers slitting throats and bellies. Lighting, fire and ice shooting from finger tips of dark elves and bretons.

The leader, it seemed had a target in mind. Weaving to and fro through the fight; only stopping to catch a blade to the shield or thrust his sword through an opponent, till he made it to the stairs leading up to Markarth's stone throne. And to the Reach's grand Yarl: Igmund.

Taking the stairs two at a time, the warrior quickly arrived before the Yarl and his last line of defense: Two of Markarth's finest. The first charged with an axe swing to the head; which was easily blocked by the Imperials shield. Using the opening to twist underneath both their arms and slide his sword across the guard's belly. The second guard fallowed his companions lead with a series of slashes with his own steel sword, trying to desperately find a weak spot in the assailant's defense. None could be found.

While the last of honor guard was hacking away at sword and shield, he did not notice the tall, slender form of an orc in heavy orriculem armor come up behind him. In fact, this new character's presence was only made know by a solid thrust from an orc blade that pierced all the way through the last defenders torso.

"Who are you? I demand to know who attacks my hold!" screamed Yarl Igmund.

The leader turned to the Yarl after patting his taller comrade on the shoulder in gratitude. Removing his helmet, Igmund can now see the face of his captor.

The man had closely cropped hair and beard, a fierce look in his eyes. He gave the impression of a man who had seen far too many battles in his lifetime. And as suspected he was an imperial.

"Vilkas!" he shouted over his shoulder, ignoring the Yarl's demands. Shortly after, a member of the Companions appeared beside him. "Inform the Yarl of his situation." He ordered as he turned and began his decent back down the stairs he fought so hard on only moments before.

"Aye general." Vilkas obeyed. "Igmund, Yarl of Markarth and the Reach. You are here by ordered to surrender this city to the Skyforge Pact and all it's holdings. If you comply, you and any prisoners or citizens who wish it shall be released and given transport to a hold of your choosing."

"If you refuse, then you will be executed. What say you?"

"Ha!" Laughed Igmund, trying to hide his terror of being surrounded by blood covered warriors of every race. And failing. "You think I will be the first of my family to surrender this Hold to beasts?! I command you all to leave Markarth immediately, before the High King of Skyrim descends upon you with all his might and…"

Unfortunately the Yarl was unable to finish; his head being cleaved from his shoulders by the same slender orc standing beside him.

"For Talo's sake Borgakh, you know Maximus hates it when you do that."

"Do what?" The Borgakh the Steelheart questioned in a deep but still obviously feminine voice.

"We could have use him." Vilkas states, crossing his arms in annoyance.

She picks up the former Yarl's head before answering. "Put this on a pike and he will be very useful."

"Good luck getting him to go along with that." said a bosmer standing beside Vilkas, her head barely reach his lower chest, with a slight chuckle.

"You're not helping, Dragonborn." Sighs Vilkas in an exasperated tone.

"Sorry dear." She apologizes with a peck to his arm. "But Borgakh, you might want to go find the general, I think saw him bleeding."

There was no response from the orc as she was too busy running after the Imperial.

* * *

><p>She finds him standing alone on a stone overpass, looking out over the city.<p>

"We did it. We took the city." The general whispers, exhaustion starting to sweep over him.

"You are injured."

"It's nothing. Arrow to the leg while scaling the walls."

"You stupid little man, THAT WAS AN HOUR AGO!" Borgahk roars at him, grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face her. "You'll bleed out if we don't mend the wound."

"I had to see it through." He quietly explains tilting his head up to look her in the eye.

"It has been seen through. The Yarl is dead and the city is ours. We have victory."

"Victory." He says so quietly, that she can barely make the word out, Just before he leans into her shoulder, unable to support himself.

Seeing that the general is unable to walk, the female orc scoops him up into her arms and begins to search for a room to lay him in and tend to his injury.

"Fear not." She says in a determined yet comforting voice. "And enjoy your victory. I will tend to you Husband.


End file.
